


Fireworks

by SuperNova53



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Area 13 References Yeah!, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, New Year's Eve, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-02-25 22:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13222731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperNova53/pseuds/SuperNova53
Summary: Steve and Tony find themselves alone in the tower on New Year Eve (of course they do). Steve's just been dumped and Tony spying on Area 13 leads to them forgetting to watch the New York fireworks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set before the Civil War and before everything goes bad, some Stony New Years fluff! Also I don't know why Area 13 had to feature in this, I just think it's cool :) Probably messed up a timeline somewhere, so sorry about that.

**Avenger Towers - 12/31 21:27**

“Steve.” Tony does a shout-whisper, nothing, he doesn’t even stir. “Steeeve.” He tries again, leaning over the sleeping blond and pawing at his shoulder. He rolls onto his side and clumsily swats Tony’s hand away. _Right, so you’ll wake up to a call to Assemble. But you sleep through somebody shouting in your ear_. Tony rolls his eyes in the dark. “Rogers! Wake up!” He darts out the way narrowly missing being clocked in the jaw by Steve sitting bolt upright. “Whoa!” overbalancing, he ends up sat next to him on the bed. 

_Awkward._

_“Tony! Christ!”_ There’s a beat silence. “Err… Why are you on my bed? Scratch that- _Why are you in my room?”_ Minor panic over, Steve rubs the sleep from his eyes as Tony stands. 

“There’s something on the monitor.” He states, congratulating himself for dodging the potentially Freudian slip on answering Steve’s initial question. 

“So?” Steve yawns and stretches making every muscle flex and ripple under his too-tight shirt. Tony coughs, does his best impression of nonchalance but steals a glance anyway. _Too obvious, keep hold of your skivvies, Tony._ “Fury would have called if it was something we needed to attend to.” 

“It’s the holidays. I’m not even sure Nick Fury’s in the country right now. I mean, even we’re on a skeleton crew.” He gestures between himself and Steve before pausing. “Wait, _you_ aren’t supposed to be here either…” Tony trails off eyes widen in realisation “You were out with Sharon…” Steve’s gaze drops to his lap.

“You know that big important thing she had to tell me? Well, turns out it was that she was leaving me.”

“Oh…” Tony fidgets, “I’m sorry to hear that… You OK?” Steve shrugs, opting to change the subject rather than answer.

“So, what’s this thing on the monitor?” Tony jumps at the chance to steer the conversation away from broken hearts, feelings and somebody dropping the inevitable ‘There’s plenty more fish in the sea’ cliché.

“Right! Well, there’s a massive energy draw over New Jersey,” He starts leading the way down to his workshop aware of Steve’s bare footsteps behind him. _“Specifically, over Pine Barrens.”_ He mumbles but damn Super-Soldier-near-bionic-ears hear it. 

“Tony, that’s _Area 13_. That’s not our turf. Have you been _spying?_ ” He can feel Steve’s berating glare on the back of his head. 

“I prefer monitoring _Steve._ ” He glances back over his shoulder in time to see him shaking his head. “Energy pulls flag up because ones of that magnitude usually mean somebody is either building _or_ using a weapon.” He huffs. “And, we’re Earths Mightiest Avengers. _Everywhere_ is our turf.”

“Fine. Show me.” Steve gestures with a wave and saunters after Tony, who’s bringing up various screens and statistics from his battered leather chair that's been patched up with crosses of duck-tape. 

Steve leans down with an arm on the desk to get a better look at the screens, dangerously close to Tony who deliberately lets his chair rock back on busted bearings, he can catch the scent of metal polish and the heady tang of the black coffee Steve likes to drink-Tony’s pretty sure he’d drink it straight from the percolator if somebody didn’t stop him. _Cute._

“I see your point,” Steve agrees with a slight nod. “So, what do we do?” 

“You’re the Captain Steve. You wanna go check it out? Or is _‘spying’_ on Area 13 against your morals?” Tony smirks.

“It’s _monitoring_ Tony.” Steve paraphrases. “Besides, it will take my mind off… You know… things.” _Nothing quite like being dumped on New Years’ Eve-Ouch._

“Don’t worry Cap,” Tony stands, clapping Steve on his back as the cliché tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it. “There’s plenty more fish in the sea.” He feels shoulders stiffen under his hand. _Oops_. “Sorry, too corny?” 

“A bit.” 

* * *

**Area 13 New Jersey – 12/31 22:38**

“Well, lookie here! The Avenger boys have come to see how the Monsters get things done!” Timothy Dugan strolls over to the new arrivals holding his arms outstretched in camaraderie. A dented fedora in one hand and missing a large portion of his uniform and synthetic skin off his forearm. He grasps Steve’s hand, shaking it vigorously. “Captain! Good t’see ya!” He booms. Steve manages to wrestle his hand from his grip. “You too Anthony, even if you don’t have the curtsy to lift the plate up on that thing.” Right on cue, the gold faceplate flips up, Tony flinches to speak. “There’s a good lad, respect your elders. Well, chitchat aside, to what do I owe the pleasure.”

“Something on your base is pulling half the juice out of the power grid. We came to see if you needed any help.” Dugan raises an eyebrow at Steve.

“You’re a bad liar Captain, you always have been. _You’re snooping._ ” 

_“Monitoring.”_ Tony cuts in.

“Is that what you’re calling it? C’mon boys follow me, I’ll show ya.” Dugan leads them deeper into the Area 13 complex, a monolith of adjoining warehouses sat atop and maximum-security prison for housing errant Supernatural beings. He draws a stogie from what’s left of his overall pocket and sparks it up blowing a cloud of fragrant smoke up into the windowless corridor. “This one’s a real treat for ya.” He says around another pull on his cigar as he pushes open a pair of double doors and leads them out onto a balcony. He gestures for them to come and stand by the metal railings and look out into the chasm below.

There’s a cage, an enormous buzzing electric cage with something monstrous pacing inside. It draws up on its hind legs and thunders a menacing bellow of a roar. It ricochets off every metal surface. It makes a tiger sound like a kitten. A low snarling responds from the corner of the balcony. “Easy Reyna, He didn’t say anythin’ about your mama.” Dugan eyes his teammate as he emerges from the shadows, some eight-foot armoured Werewolf. He chuckles when Steve and Tony both jump and raises his eyebrows at the way Steve puts himself between Tony and the Warwolf. “Werewolves and Manticores don’t get along. Mind you Manticores an’ anything don’t seem to get along. Damn thing nearly took my arm clean off, dented my ever-lovin’ fedora too.” Dugan holds his hat up in dismay, takes one last drag on his cigar and flicks the stub into the cage below, much to the occupant’s disgust, sparks fly up as it throws itself at the bars. “Quit your whining! You’ve caused me enough trouble.”

“I think we’ve found your energy pull Tony.” The detail of Steve’s face that’s exposed looks decidedly pale. Tony nods in response. 

“Yep, these cages’ll hold until the moon comes back up. Then poof!” Dugan does a theatrical wave with his hands. “Damn things turn to dust. New moons always bring them out. Though not usually _this big_. It’s takin’ a bit ’a extra juice to keep him locked up.” He turns back to Tony and Steve who couldn’t look _more_ out of place in Area 13 if they tried. “So, mystery solved boys. You can run along now,” Dugan checks his watch, “or you’ll miss the fireworks. I’m sure you don’t need Reyna here to show you out.” He draws another cigar from his pocket.

“Nope, we’ll be fine. You seem to have everything under control here, so… Happy New Year!” Tony’s never been a dog person _or a Werewolf person._

* * *

**Avenger Towers - 12/31 23:48**

“Area 13 smells like wet dog,” Tony huffs when he and Steve arrive back at the Tower. Steve chuckles pulling his cowl from his face and heads to the kitchen. “Note to self – don’t ever go back. No matter what, ignore any kind of _weird shit_ you see on the monitor above Pine Barrens.” Tony shouts after Steve removing his helmet and doing his best to fluff his hair back up. 

“Or maybe don’t use your tech to spy on people?” Steve emerges chugging a bottle of water to the point where the plastic sucks in on itself and cracks. Tony’s eyes flit to the way Steve’s throat bobs with each gulp. _Great be more obvious Tony._ “Come on, it’s New Years' Eve, it’s almost midnight, come watch the fireworks.” Steve points towards the panoramic windows in the common room. “It’s a clear night, _no moon_.” The edges of his lips twitch into a smile.

“Ha-ha, the mighty Captain America makes a funny.” Tony sulks, but clanks over to the window still in his armour and stands next to Steve. “OK, spying was my bad could we maybe not mention it again? _Please?”_

Right on cue, the sound erupts from the street below as the countdown to midnight kicks off.

10…

“Steve, I just realised.”

8…

“What?” 

7…

“I don’t have anybody to _kiss_ at midnight!” Tony looks genuinely disappointed.

5…

“Oh my God,” Steve slaps a hand to his face laughing. “What are you fourteen?” 

2…

“You know what?” _possibly about to make the worst decision of your life here Tony._ “Fuck it!”

1…

“Tony-mmph-”

0…

* * *

Tony's lips disappear from his as quickly as they came, Steve finds himself staggering backwards in surprise and looking down at a blushing Tony as fireworks start to light up the city. “Err… Happy New Year Captain?” Tony shrugs, Steve had never known him look so unsure of himself as he went to rub at the back of his neck, forgetting that it was damn near impossible when you were still in armour. “Well, I should, you know…” a very pink eared Tony doesn’t even bother with an excuse before he goes to leave. Steve panics and grabs for his arm.

“Tony, _wait._ What… what was that?” Tony can’t really go anywhere with Steve’s hand clamped on his wrist so he dares to make eye contact. 

“It was, you know-New Years’ kiss? A bit of fun.” Tony’s mouth has never been so dry in all his life. He _so_ wants Steve to buy his poor excuse.

Let it be said that Steve Rogers was no fool. He had seen through Tony from day one, every stolen glance and lingering touch they had shared. He hadn’t told Tony why Sharon left him, he had wanted to; felt it on the tip of his tongue when he woke up with Tony sat next to him in bed in the strange limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness where anything seems possible. _Tony, I didn’t love her, and she knew it, she knew she would never be good enough and she was right, she wouldn’t because she wasn’t_ _**you**_. _Because_ _**you**_ _never leave my mind, I’d already lost my entire world when I met you and when I saw the new world dancing in your eyes, I never needed to look at anybody else because nobody else could ever compare._

Steve says nothing, instead he pulls the Iron Man by his forearm until his chest plate clanks against his scale; loops his arms around his back, gentle enough to not dent his armour, firm enough so he can’t get away, he leans down resolving the height difference to ghost his lips over Tony’s that quiver under the featherlike contact; then Steve is screwed.

The moment their lips touch there’s no going back. It’s devastated because _nothing_ is ever going to compare to the first time he kissed Tony Stark. The way he goes ridged then melts against his chest, gauntleted hands that slide around his waist and pull their hips together. The slight smile he feels curl on the edges of Tony’s mouth before he lets him in. The way their teeth catch because neither can get close enough. _Even the universe_ applauds them with an encore of fireworks erupting from the street below.

Had anybody of been watching it would have looked like a perfectly timed movie kiss. Captain America and Iron Man against a backdrop of the New York skyline whilst fireworks explode overhead- they don’t have anything on the fireworks that go off in Steve’s brain when they pull apart and Tony utters one-breathless-word- _“Bedroom.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think we all know where this was going...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long to update!

**Avenger Towers - 01/01 00:11**

The door has barely latched before Steve’s pinned Tony against it, kissing him like his life depends on it and thumping his head against the wood. _“Sorry,”_ He manages to breath out, covering Tony’s mouth with another desperate kiss as he laces a gloved hand through his hair making a soft cradle between him and the door. Steve pulls away. _“Tony, take your suit off.”_ He gasps going back in for another round, rasping his days’ worth of stubble against Tony’s beard. 

If it had been anybody _other_ than Steve ordering him to drop his armour, he would have protested, lectured them about how it needs to be stored correctly and given the respect it deserved because it was _the pinnacle_ of modern technology, but for Steve – he lets it fall into a clattering heap of red and gold. _Nice armour – it’d look better on my floor._ Tony sniggers against his lips at the thought. 

It turns into a full-blown fit of giggles and Steve takes a step back. Staring in bewilderment at a very golden Tony still wearing the under sheath of the suit (leaving _very little_ to the imagination) and doubled over in laughter. “I’m… I’m _so sorry_ Steve.” He manages to regain most of his composure and stand up straight-ish. “This is… Is this… _Really_ happening? _You and me?”_ He wipes a tear away from his eye still stifling the last of his snickers. 

“Umm… If you want it to?” Steve takes a cautious step back, worried he’ll do something that’s going to set Tony off laughing again. 

“Yes! Absolutely, _yes!”_ Tony panics and rushes over to where Steve has retreated looking like he’s about to bolt. “It’s just… I can’t _believe_ it that’s all.” He soothes, gold-tipped fingers trace the outline of the star on Steve’s chest feeling the tense muscles relax under the softness of his touch.

Steve says nothing, he doesn’t need to. He pulls Tony close and lifts him off the floor. _“Hey!”_ Tony goes to half-heartedly protest before he _gets it_ and wraps his legs around Steve's waist, lets him hold him up with hands hooked under his ass. Steve doesn’t have to stoop to kiss him like this and Tony’s arms drape around his neck like they’ve been doing this forever. _Maybe we should’ve been._

He carries him to the bed like it, sets him down on the edge and lets him watch as he strips his uniform. 

Gloves are pulled off with teeth and spat on the floor. The sound of each buckle that unclasps and every strap that comes loose is exaggerated in the silence of the half-lit bedroom. 

He doesn’t make eye contact until it gets to his boxers, his thumbs hook under the waistband and he glances at Tony for affirmation, silently he asks: _Are we really doing this?_ Tony must have nodded because Steve frees himself with a sigh of relief, lets them pool at his feet with the rest of his discarded costume. _Nice uniform…_

Tony gapes at the sight, he knew Steve was big everywhere but… _“Holy shit Steve.”_ Tony laughs out softly “How the hell do you hide something _that big_ in a costume _that tight?”_ His skin twinges pink as he crawls onto the bed.

“Come on; this isn’t fair,” He smiles gently. “You’ve seen me.” A _very naked_ Steve Rogers pushes Tony back into the mattress as he lets the under-sheath leach under his skin like liquid gold. 

_“How’s this?”_ He smirks. Steve glances down, past the equator, then back up before his whole body erupts in a blush.

“Does that mean whenever you’re piloting the Iron Man suit _you’re… naked?”_ Steve’s eyes go comically large at the realisation. “I’m never going to be able to look at you when you’re fighting in the same way again.” He shakes his head burying it in the juncture of Tony’s neck, laying claim to his bare flesh.

“I think we’re way- _ah_ -passed that.” Tony’s breath hitches when Steve rakes his teeth across his shoulder and he’s not sure whether he’s more turned on or surprised; a hand he thought would fumble and need encouragement has found his junk; confident fingers wrap the length of him, sliding from the tip to base and signing it with a twist. _“Jesus.” Well, there’s jacking off on your own ruined Tony, nothing’s_ _**ever**_ _going to come close to this. _He groans and lets his back arch when Steve traces his slit with the pad of his thumb, tracking it through what’s leaking and using it to slicken his grip.__

Tony could get off from this, he _really_ could. Steve has been sucking at his neck the whole time and working his hand in rhythm to Tony’s rasping. He’s pretty sure he’s been branded with an enormous ‘guess what I did last night’ hickey that’s going to earn him few questioning looks tomorrow; but that was _tomorrow,_ right now who the fuck cares?

Steve’s spare hand runs up his flank, fingers and thumbs running over muscles and scars and- _“Urrn,”_ nipples, oversensitive and so hard they could cut glass. Tony’s not sure what to do with _his_ hands. He wants to touch, claw, _feel;_ but if he does he knows it’s going to push him over the edge, ground him before he’s even had a chance to fly. It’s already _too much_ that Steve’s pinning him down with his chest, kissing his way up his jaw and back to his lips.

Steve must have felt Tony’s cock jerk in his hand because his grip goes loose, Tony whines. Steve _at least_ has the generosity to trace a fingertip along the seam of Tony’s balls making him jolt and suck in air through his teeth; _it’s bliss_. Steve’s gazing down at him and Tony thinks he could be looking at something painted on the Sistine Chapel roof because – Steve Rogers - he’s a living work of art. _“You’ve done this before.”_ He mutters watching Steve blush at his breathless accusation.

“We were all teenagers once Tony.” He breaks eye contact batting his perfect blond lashes. “Do you have any…” He trails off leaving Tony to read between the lines, _Oh._ Tony’s mouth goes dry. It’s a loaded question, an ‘if I say yes to this it means we're going all the way’ type question.

“Bottom drawer.” It’s as good a ‘yes’ as any, he props himself up on his elbows watching the muscles on Steve’s back ripple and flex whilst rummaging through his bedside cabinet. He’s leering and it’s shameful what just looking does for him. _‘” We were all teenagers once Tony.”’ Yeah, and I feel like a teenager right now._

It’s true, he does - blushing, giddy and nervous all at the same time with frickin’ butterflies the size of Hawk Moths doing summersaults in his stomach. It’s his first time all over again as much as it isn’t, he’s got some twenty years’ worth of experience since then. Twenty years’ worth of tricks, _but this was Steve._ Steve, who was lugging his considerable amount of wood back to the bed, who makes a show of squeezing lube onto his deft artist fingers because he knows his audience is captivated. Steve who lets the bottle deliberately drip on Tony’s stomach then tracks slick digits through it and watches his whole body prickle with goosebumps.

The question of who was doing the fucking was answered the moment Tony melted against Steve’s chest in the common room, that being said-it still doesn’t make it any less of a surprise when Steve’s fingers are inside him, stroking, curling and touching every-damn-nerve.

Steve leans in for a slow and deliberate air stealing kiss. It’s a distraction whilst two fingers become three, sliding in and out in time with him lapping his tongue into Tony’s mouth; Tony wants to give as good as he’s getting but his whole body feels like its turning to pliant mush under Steve’s ministration and all he manages is to dig nails into Steve’s shoulders and breathlessly mutter, _“Fuck.”_ Every time Steve breaks away and threatens to slide his fingers all the way out only to let Tony’s body suck them back in again.

With all his blood rushing South Tony’s lost all high brain function, along with any coherent vocabulary, all he can manage is rasping moans of encouragement. _What are words anyway?_

His back twists to an arch when fingers plunge deeper than before sending a wave of ecstasy crashing over him and blanking his mind of any kind of lucid thought. Some aborted groan escapes his chest, he thinks he might come if Steve does _that_ trick again, he pulls his fingers out instead and Tony wants to protest, call him a tease, tell him not to start something he can’t finish. His eyes fly open and he’s met by the sight of Steve sat back on his heels, sucking in raw uneven breaths. He watches as the air catches in Steve’s throat and he flinches at his own hand running the length of his cock coating it in lube until it's glistening and letting out some guttural growl. He looks so hard that he might keel over from it, apparently, he’s been getting off to Tony getting off. _Now there’s something that doesn’t happen every day._

There’s no hesitation when Steve drags Tony half way down the bed and pulls him into position, he ends up with Steve slotted in between his thighs with his hands under his ass lifting him ever so slightly, fingertips just brushing the small of his back. He feels so open, _so ready_. When Steve pushes in with his smooth crown, Tony pushes right back until he’s full of nothing but Steve. 

Steve goes still and looks down; Tony doesn’t miss the tight expression on his face, he’s doing the same thing Tony is, _trying to calm the fuck down so this last longer than ten minutes (if that)._ Tony can’t resist, a slight shift of his hips and a tense of muscles and he watches Steve double over. _“Christ, Tony, if you keep that up this is going to be over very, very quickly.”_ He pants letting his head bow.

“Is that a promise?” Tony smirks because humour and sarcasm are his go-to. Need to get out of an awkward conversation? Need to end an argument? _Need to stave off an orgasm?_ It isn’t the least bit funny when Steve snaps his hips back, setting some damn near brutal pace going hell for leather. He’s barely letting Tony catch his breath between thrusts. He’s fucking him so hard and fast that words, noises, they aren’t even an option anymore. _Why was he trying not to come again?_

He can feel it building in pit of his stomach, making the back of his neck prickle and pulling the corners of his vision to a grey blur, his whole body feels like it’s about to explode and it pulses agonisingly close to tipping over the edge each time Steve hits the precious bundle of nerves that makes his balls jump up to his body.

The hands that are holding him up slide in the sweat against his skin and it’s too much, the way Steve’s biting his bottom lip with his eyes screwed shut, the way his whole-body rocks with each push, the way he cuts off Tony’s groans by bottoming out and knocking the air from his lungs.

It hits him like a car, makes his body jerk, and every muscle momentarily seize. Talking and breathing, who needs that anyway, he’s gone blind he’s sure. Steve’s made him come like a horny teenager on prom night. He’s still pulsing making it pretty obvious - _it’s been a while._ So saving the world, running a multinational Company and spying, _(monitoring)_ , the New York power grid didn’t leave a lot of time for getting your rocks off? So what?

Steve’s no better, hands suddenly grip Tony’s hips like he’s caught in a vice, the way his body jolts and he curses through gritted teeth, thrusting one final time before doubling over and exploding still buried in Tony’s ass. Super Soldier or not, he’s still brought shaking to his knees by one hell of an orgasm.

Tony’s still up orbiting blissful oblivion when Steve pulls out and drops heavily beside him on the bed, “Hi.” He breaths looking at Tony through half-lidded eyes hazy with contentment.

"Hi.” He _does_ still remember how to talk, Steve didn’t fuck that out of him after all. He returns the gaze and stretches his arms above his head suddenly remembering the state he’s in. _“Ah shit,”_ he doesn’t really care _that_ much but sticking to the bed sheets wasn’t exactly an _attractive_ premise. “Err… As much as I hate to ask Steve, but could you…” Steve leans over the side of the bed grabbing for the nearest piece of fabric littering Tony’s bedroom, he ends up chucking him one of his discarded t-shirts from the floor.

“Gee… _Thanks_ , MY t-shirt.” He huffs but uses it to mop up the filth nonetheless. Steve laughs doing a half-roll/half-stand off the bed.

“It serves you right for leaving it on the floor. You’re messy Tony.” He pauses steadying himself on legs that haven’t quite recovered. “Case and point,” he gestures to the room strewn with clothes and pieces of armour, before gesturing at Tony with a smirk who stops his clean-up operation in mock indignation.

“What happened to _‘Tony, take your suit off’_? And that’s _your_ uniform!” He sits up to point at the pile of red, white and blue on the floor, “And this,” he gestures to himself t-shirt screwed into a ball in his hand, _“this,_ was all _your_ fault.” He’s laughing when he chucks it in Steve’s direction who ducks into the bathroom. Tony half debates going in after him, _round two in the shower anyone?_ Who’s he kidding he’s not going anywhere.

He calls to Steve with a yawn, “You know Steve, you can stay the night if you want.” He’s still relishing in the post-sex afterglow, sinking back into the pillows and sliding under the covers, the 800 thread count cotton glides across oversensitive skin making him sigh and settle deeper into the mattress.

His eyelids go heavy as the lights go out. He hears the bed creaking when Steve climbs in; Tony shifts and ends up being the little spoon, it’s nice. Steve’s chest is so warm against his back. _“Happy New Year Steve.”_ He mumbles. _“That’s the best New Year kiss I’ve ever had.”_ Laughter rumbles from behind him.

“Me too Tony, me too.” An arm wraps him, tight enough to be on the _good side_ of possessive. “JARVIS?” Tony cracks an eye at Steve addressing the AI. “Remind Tony to do laundry tomorrow.” He chuckles and gets a swift elbow to the ribs from his little spoon. Steve tightens his grip, but Tony manages to twist around to face him.

“JARVIS, please remind Steve he will be doing Tony’s laundry tomorrow.” He laughs before he’s silenced by a kiss, or two, _or three._

Tony falls asleep half splayed across Steve’s chest, his head resting over where the metronomic thud of Steve’s heart keeps perfect rhythm, with one of Steve’s arms wrapping his shoulder.

Steve makes a good pillow and Tony’s perfect, _messy,_ but perfect.


End file.
